Love Between the Stitches
by Trashybritt12
Summary: It is up to Arthur to find where his heart truly lies. He's been designing clothes for nearly ten years, and he has been starting to question where his sense of love lies. In bitter defeat, he's given up on love all-together, focusing on his career only. Lest he knew there would be someone on the horizon for him, and he wouldn't even know it. Will Arthur finally find true love?
1. Arthur

Arthur concluded that his day was over. At this point it would be permissible to continue with this project. How ridiculous was it that he had to make a coat, and for

Francis in particular. He felt outraged at the mere thought, but Francis had other plans with this too. Just like him, Arthur couldn't pass up the chance for publicity, nor

could he give up the pay (which was handsomely to make this coat might I add). So, in many ways, Arthur was stuck with this and he sooner than later realized it was

futile to get angry or to quit now.

* * *

The doorbell had rung as I was seam ripping. Not a moments rest and yet someone had to come bother me...bugger... I said to myself softly. "Yes, yes one moment" I

spoke loudly. "Jeeze, I thought you would never open ze door". My face dropped, it was Francis. He had on a burette, a mix-matched shirt consisting of grey, white, and

black. Marking his head were Chanel glasses. Every encounter I've had with him he seems to never take them off; Always masking his eyes behind a materialistic piece

of man-made tomfoolery. I sighed with a finger to my forehead.

"Come in, I suppose you want some - dare I say it - coffee?" I squirmed. I cringed at that word. There was never room in my life for the abomination known as coffee. It

doesn't seem like a polite drink for a gentleman such as myself, which is why I only keep it around sparingly when house guests, like the OH SO magnificent Francis

when he arrives out of nowhere. SURE, because this is a free for all kind of household. He'll have something to drink...bollux. Damn French swine. I bit my bottom lip

and dealt with the matter quickly. A small cup of espresso was placed with a matching dish under it, complimented by a Vanilla scone. "Mon-ami, eh, pardon my

rudeness but...WHAT ZÉ HELL IS THIS?! This is an UNFORGIVABLE piece of food on my plate!" He raised his fist up at me as if I did him disservice. "What?! Do I

honestly look like a damn butler to you!?" I yelled back "Excuse me! But this is my house and you have better see to it that if you don't like what I serve you, then get

the (expletive) out of my house!" I huffed and puffed like the big bad wolf from children's folklore. This wolf wasn't taking any of little red riding hoods bull crap. Francis

changed his facial expression to a new level of annoyed.

* * *

He got up and looked at Arthur square in the face. "Maybe we should go out to eat then" he demanded. Arthur begrudgingly stared back and exclaimed "fine, then

maybe we should!" "FINE!" -" Fine!"... They both yelled. They both grabbed their coats and were off, but not before Arthur slammed the door, and then proceeded to

lock it. The day was cold, and the air stilled. Arthur and Francis had walked down the road before a word entered either or their mouths. Francis broke the silence. "You

know, I have no idea why we didn't zh'ust do this in zé first place" he said calmly. He had some time to think about his behavior, knowing it was wrong, yet he'll never

say that to Arthur; He'll never admit to being wrong. Dozing off in thought however, his eyes looked over to Arthur unknowingly. Arthur had looked forward until he

noticed it. He took a light jab to Francis' arm, "Are you all right?" Francis blinked a few times before even realizing he had been staring blankly at Arthur. He became a bit

flustered and looked straight. "Oui, I am fine" moments passed by before he eventually said, "thank you". Something sparked in Arthur. There was a long pause, then a

thump... It began; his heart began to thump rapidly. Was he getting sick? His face felt hot at the notion of this. Static of some sort filled the air. Was romance finally

ignited within him? And worst of all, was it with HIM?... Arthur sighed groggily. It was as if the end of the world was happening all in one day. First, he takes on a job

from the psychotic freak...and now he's falling in love with him?! Oi! "There's no way this can get any worse than this" he thought to himself. Of course, Francis was

oblivious to Arthur. He stared off into the sky as he walked and hummed a song. Something Arthur hadn't heard in a long time. The two devils had reached their

destination, despite Arthur's escapade. They both walked in, waited all but a few minutes to be seated, and off they were. The booth was comfortable for standard

seating. "What were you thinking of getting?" Asked Francis. Arthur looked at Francis somewhat surprised. What was with the talking and questions? For that matter,

how did they end up going out for lunch somewhere? Normally Francis would place his order with Arthur to make him some high fashioned- whatever he wanted, and

the two wouldn't talk until Arthur finished with his order. It was all rather odd and strange to him. On top of the scenario, it still bothered him that Francis had said

'thank you'. It was very odd, and out of the ordinary for him. Nonetheless Arthur answered "I'll get an Earl Grey tea for the time being" he scoffed. Trying to hide his

emotional motives from escaping to the surface and coming out of his mouth, he composed himself whilst getting up from his side of the booth and went straight for the

bathroom. "Remain calm, everything is going to be okay" He told himself. But that was just it, he was fighting something he had no control over. And as the thought of

this grew deeper and deeper, became more and more afraid to admit it. The wheels in his head were overwhelmed by the emotions of his heart. He opened the door to

the bathroom and then locked it behind him. Staring at the mirror, he looked directly into a staring pair of eyes. His green eyes pursed with passion and determination

looked like light had shown down from the sky. Arthur washed his hands, closed his eyes and breathed, then got a paper towel from the dispenser and was off back to

the table.

* * *

I was baffled. Baffled because no matter what I tried to do, I couldn't let go of these emotions of mine. I saw that Francis had gotten the onion soup with a small

baguette and some Shiraz. He was odd, mainly because I knew he liked his wine with ice, which was unusual for a French man to do. Living in the United States all

these years, seeing others do it, would do that to you I suppose. But I always felt it was just something he liked doing. Especially here in New England. It's a

demographic thing for him. I saw that my tea had come. As i sat down to enjoy my hot cup, I saw something else that was peculiar on Francis. His eyes... His hair... If

my curiosity is correct, it might have something to do with the light from the window. I saw his deep pools of blue in his eyes and his soft glow of his blonde hair struck

me as beautiful. I started my eyes elsewhere. It was too embarrassing to look directly at him. Francis was drinking his wine, and to no surprise, had started chatting up

with the waitress. She seemed delighted to speak to him, and to no surprise at that. I could tell she was attracted to the wavy locks, those sea blue eyes, and his pink

lips...those pink lips- oh, how I want them. I wanted to bask in the radiance of his aura. My face felt like a magnet, slowly drawing into him. I searched his eyes, seeing a

spark of desire. Alas, the daydream had ended after Francis had called my name a few times. "Are you okay Arthur? You looked like you were in a daze", was what he

followed up with afterwards. It was indeed true. I was in a daze, in a daze with his face, with his charm, his looks...

never mind that now, I said to myself.

* * *

After we gullied up some grub, Francis and I had walked back to my apartment. It had gotten colder than when we arrived at the café. That was to be expected however,

seeing how it had passed the peaking hours of the day, and nightfall was soon upon us. The sun had begun to set and I had always been amazed by the transcendent

sunset. Ever since I was a small child; though those days were very lonely up until the point when I became a big brother. Those days made me feel great because I was

no longer an only child, no longer lonely. My baby brother Was Alfred. He had kept me happy while we were growing up. We shared different fathers unfortunately, so he

inherited the last name Jones by some new Yorker our mother had eyes on. She didn't know she had been pregnant until sometime afterward and wouldn't you know,

he came into the world. It pains me to see that he'll never be a Kirkland. We had an argument one day. I wanted him to change his last name to Kirkland. I felt that we

would be closer than before if we had the same last name, but he wanted his own independence with that. He got angry with me, saying that he liked his last name

because it was what made him unique, and with that, I felt alone again as before, only this time I was shut out by the only sibling I had. We grew distant, not talking for

a while. I recall it being five years or so now. Every so often I'll think about it and get sad. . .

* * *

Whilst thinking about Alfred I noticed the sky again, and then a nudge to my arm. It seemed Artsy fartsy wanted my attention.

"Did you want to go over zé rest of my plans for zé coat before I leave?" He asked. I contemplated for a moment. Not sure as to whether I wanted this to go about a

certain way. I could always invite him back in, but where would it lead? Would we spark in a moment's notice, where he would try to seduce me and make my- ugh, the

thought is simply too much to bare! I decided on my answer.

"No, no! That's quite alright chap. No need to go about doing that when the time flew by so quickly during our lunch! Why don't you scurry along and I'll look at the

design specifications a bit more thoroughly?" I was heated up now. My face felt hot like chili peppers. Oh, the indecency! I'm a professional fashion designer for crying

out loud! We don't show our feelings outwardly in this industry! No- as a man I cannot express my feelings to another man! It's just unheard of, right? I don't want to

feel as if I'm being stereotyped or being made fun of by being called a flamer, or a- how do you say it? ...Homosexual, if word got out I was interested in a man. That

word wrung up in my head repeatedly. The more I thought about it, the more my head hurt. But in conjunction to my head hurting, my heart was pounding rapidly. I

immediately went inside my apartment and took off my jacket, without a bother to say cheers to HIM. I was beginning to feel a bit nauseous. I went over to the

cupboard, grabbed a glass and poured some rum on the rocks. I sat down for a moment and contemplated the kind of day I had. Up until Francis said thank you to me, I

had felt nothing but queasy and uneasiness. What was going on with my mind and my heart? It felt like civil war.


	2. Francis

Now it was official. Official because Francis hadn't realized up until this point, that Arthur slammed the door in his face. Official, because of something that ticked off

Arthur, that Francis didn't know about. He could sense something from behind the door and knew that there was something going on. But Francis knew better than to

get into cahoots when Arthur has his episode. Lastly before Arthur went inside his apartment, Francis saw that he was nearly red in the face and sweating. He didn't

mind it though, as Francis knew this wasn't anything unusual in their friendship. He just shrugged it off as if it were nothing; he had other plans. A smile slapped on his

face forgetful of what just transpired. Nothing was going to bring his mood down. He decided he would go home to pamper himself, which was successful every time; a

bath with bubbles that would make you go 'wow!' But at the same time, shocked because of how expensive his bubbles were from bath and body works; of course,

Francis wouldn't be caught dead without his cucumber face mask exfoliate, his ocean salt scrub, along with his shampoo that had something to do with bananas from

lush cosmetics as well. You could see rows of those same products within his bathroom closet, along with other necessities like towels, and toilet paper (How expensive!)

The objectivity of money didn't apply to this gorgeous model. After all, he was the face of Louie Vuitton. Back in France, Francis was a luxury all on his own. He'd pose

with ridiculous straight faces that girls seemed to go crazy over. Trunks, bags, and even the new crossover between Louie Vuitton and Supreme was putting him in

spotlights. The public adored him; indeed, he was a huge fashion icon in his home country. After moving to the states, it was no different. Girls would wander up to him

all shy in the face, timidly awaiting, after they'd ask for his autograph; an autograph was all it took for most young girls; girls that wouldn't even leave that signature at

their bedsides for more than five seconds. Francis was after the big apple - New York city; He got his wish granted, and has now lived in New York city for about the same

time he's known Arthur. It was a small feeling in his chest, but Francis wasn't precise in what that feeling had been. Is it loneliness? Homesickness? His choices in life?

He wasn't quite sure what it was. Yet it was on the tip of his tongue; just slightly within grasp however, yet not enough to grab what he is searching for.

* * *

It was bright outside, brighter than I had anticipated. The sky had turned a darkened blue, almost like the sea. Or more so becoming its reflection. I was waiting for zé

opportunity to seize the day ahead. I felt rather tamed yet my heart felt so free, so wanting of life. It always felt nice to "pamper" as zé Americans would put it, but I

saw it as taking care of myself; I wanted everything to feel and look good on me. As I walked outside the tree's outside my door emitted flower petals from their

branches. They smelled as well as they looked, it was a pleasure to both my eyes and nose. Zé grass was cut, the weather warm, and so I was off. This day reminded me

of when I was back in Paríe, so bountiful with color, the Eiffel tower staggering over me with all her might, and yet, something I was not use to – there was not as many

people. America is a lot bigger than I initially realized before I had moved here. My heart had felt joy for zé first time in a while. It is not often zat I get a day off. The last

time I had time off I was at Arthur's place. It was a mess of a time, at least up until our fighting stopped. It is also not often that Arthur is calm, but I believe it to be

because of his work. Ze man enjoys what he does, but he is so serious all the time within it. Arthur is a designer whose work I liked. His ability to design coats from just

his imagination and political stances of the world, are so breathtakingly beautiful, much like myself. His work makes my heart soar with unimaginable happiness.

Something you can't just get from ze movies. Zis was in real life, his work is true to his vision, and I can see that. Zát is why I wanted a coat from him. He was zé only

one who could quench my appetites of forward-thinking fashion. He has been on the cover of vogue magazine, featured in an article written by none other than madam

Wintour's herself! From what he has told me, Arthur has been on numerous fashion blogs, websites, and his work has been featured in stores like Barney's New York, as

well as Barney's in Boston, Massachusetts. The retail industry wanted a piece of Arthur in their clutches. It was also nice that we played our separate roles within the

same industry. For myself, I believed that our roles were important because it is what helps to bring the fashion industry forward, getting designer-wear clothing

recognized and purchased as well as getting to know the designer behind it all. I wear the clothes that get featured on the runway, and Arthur, being a designer, gets his

designs featured on the runway by a model like myself. I wondered why he has never asked me to model for him. Zen again, I try not to think as to what might happen.

The fashion industry is ruthless, scary at times, and very time consuming. Working is like a nightmare at times. Deadlines are to be met, and everyone is moving about

all at once. However, there is the benefit of it all. When you love doing what you do towards something, something that instills a love for it, that is passion. I love how

passionate Arthur is when it comes to his work, and it still eludes me to think that he keeps it up, having all this energy, just to do what it is he loves. But that is also

why they call it passion, and I too believe I know what that is.

* * *

I had glanced down at the stoned walkway as I picked up my foot in front of the other one in a repeated motion. Of course, when you are day dreaming and not paying

attention, things happen to you. I banged into someone hard, and everything happened so fast. I immediately rose from the fall, finding custard on one of the jackets

that Arthur had specifically designed for me. He was a true couture. I was angered, but I could not get mad at the man standing across from me. He had started yelling

to me in Italian, and shouted "what's a matter to you?!" in a broken English accent. I expressed how sorry I was and fortunate that I knew just a little bit of Italian to

get by. The man composed himself and shook my hand. I gave him double the money of what his custard had cost him. Feeling bad wasn't something I was willing to do

today if I knew how to make it right. Which luckily, I did. I was still upset as I looked down at my coat. Afterwards, I found a place to sit. My coat was off and folded

inward so that the outer layer would not stain anything else. "Arthur" I said, "are you busy?" I could tell he knew I was irritated. He responded "Why? So, you can yell

at me about how bad my coffee and scones are?" I took a slight pause before replying, "I need to know if you're free now, I have an emergency. One of your coats you

had made for me is covered in custard. I need you to dry clean it for me." Arthur didn't miss a beat as soon as he heard that the coat was compromised. "Come over."

Was all he said, and then hanged up.


End file.
